


First Blood, First Kill

by sparklight



Series: Evolution of a Revolution [2]
Category: Transformers (Dreamwave Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Original Character Death(s), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's still long before Kaon falls to the Decepticons, but the secret, underground arena Megatron is cultivating has helped him draw some... conclusions.</p><p>It has also drawn the attention of a Seeker, who keeps finding himself surprisingly good at and all too pleased with the violence he gets to do in said arena.</p><p>Starscream will have yet one more realisation, coming on the heels of a situation engineered by Megatron in an attempt to find out what the Seeker is made of. Will Starscream's realisation come quick enough, and if so... is that even a good idea?</p><p>Megatron's paying attention, either way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Blood, First Kill

**Kaon, hidden underground gladiator arena of the future Decepticons.**

Red optics. Red optics everywhere, pinpoints of crimson eagerly locked on the arena below, with a small, nearly token, amount of blue among them. Red and blue that the Council of Ancients would insist mean nothing, when the difference in the choices taken of _available_ occupations seemed to line up neatly along a very telling split.

A lot of red optics in the peace keeper forces, in what small amount of (basically ceremonial) military there was in the various torus states, in the _gladiator arenas_. Blue proportionally less in those occupations, all the more among the manual, engineers, scientsts...

He couldn't _prove_ anything, of course. Not even with the... indications he had, no matter how strong they might seem. Observations that piled up and at least _corroborated_ with his vague hypothesis rather than contradict or disprove it. If he was to sling around _scientific terms_ , as it were.

With a quiet hum, Megatron leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chestplates, obscuring the glow from the lights on his torso, focusing back on the fight going on in the arena. Below, one of the combatants kicked out, tearing armour when his opponent wasn't quick enough, and thus got the space needed to stagger back, shuddering at the bent and twisted rotors hanging from his back.

They were both focused, intent on causing enough harm to win.

That wasn't good enough.

Optics narrowing as the two circled around each other, one magenta and teal, the other white, red and blue, Megatron again considered their relative differences. Differences that didn't really have anything to do with the _physical ones_ , even if the helicopter-alt mech was more lightly armoured (and far more forgettable) than the Seeker he was squaring off against.

No, the differences lay in red and blue.

Distrail was an on-again, off-again low-tier gladiator and petty criminal, but for all that he came in hard and fast, here or in the official arena, he always... lost steam if the fight went on too long. Not because he ran out of energy, however. No, rather, whenever his quick, sharp attempts at _disabling_ didn't work, he became hesitant, unfocused.

Not actually willing to go through with the promise the fight and his initial strikes had held. Distrail was willing to fight, but seemed unwilling to _fulfil_ what the fight (here or above) was _about_.

Megatron had been _somewhat_ surprised to see Distrail in this arena. Not surprised he would listen to the words about _purpose_ , about _more_ , _wider_... no, not that. Just that he'd be willing to at least _try_ to push himself in _this_ place. Not that it seemed like Distrail was having any luck getting any better at causing damage. 

He'd become... somewhat better at it, admittedly, but he never truly went _far enough_.

It was possible there was a way change that.

As for _Starscream_... The Seeker, after taking the step from merely lingering with arrogant contempt that fooled no one on the edges of the stands or at the corners of the crowds to listen to him and stepping into the arena seemed to take each push to greater violence with a stunned surprise that he could _do that_.

As if he'd never thought of the possibility before. Though, given that the Seeker, as Megatron understood it, was a _scientist_ , it wasn't surprising. What was more surprising was that he was one at all.

But after those possibilities were revealed to him... then he _embraced it_ with a fervour that was near gleeful. Not _quite_ at where Megatron was sure the potential could reach, still, and he had never really caused harm during a fight for harm's sake, despite how _showy_ he could be.

Again, there might be a way to change that.

Staring quietly for a moment longer, Megatron opened up a private comm. frequency.

::Kill him.::

Distrail staggered in the air, barely avoiding a punch from Starscream while he aborted the jerk he'd almost made to stare up at Megatron. This was clearly a private conversation, and thus revealing he was having one wouldn't be seen favourably.

::M-Megatron? But this isn't a death match...::

Snorting quietly to himself, Megatron smirked as he watched the two aerials dodge and weave around each other in the air. No, it wasn't. _Usually_ they were all agreed upon beforehand.

Usually.

::Kill him, or I kill you afterwards, _regardless of_ whether you win or lose.:: 

Starscream had a keen mind, sharp tongue, and skill in the arena. He wanted to see how far that skill went, if somebody who was an explorer and scientist still carried what his optics seemed to imply, regardless of the Council's blather of there being no sweeping split in the population. He wanted to know if the burgeoning promise each of those stunned realisations hinted at would unfold into true potential and reality. He also wanted to know if Starscream would react in a way that would make it worth it to bring him into his plans.

He had to start somewhere, and he wanted to push things to the next step, beyond speeches, beyond this _initial_ gathering of like minds. He wanted actual _substance_.

And Starscream, if he came through, could be a good place to start. As for Distrail... well, he was less _promising_ , but maybe the _right incentive_ would reveal there was more to Distrail than what he'd picked up on so far. Maybe pushing him would reveal there was less difference between red and blue than he'd so far gotten suggestions for, considering that a mech like Distrail, who should be far more used to, and capable of, inflicting damage compared to a _scientist_ , who was taking to causing said damage with far more gusto.

Maybe there would be some sort of sudden reveal. Megatron didn't really believe that however, but it'd be another useful point of data; either falling in line with what he'd already seen, or giving an exception and contradicting data. He couldn't start with Distrail _either way_ , but the mech would be as useful as anyone later.

 _If_ he came through here.

::Megatron, I---::

He wanted to know.

:: _Kill him_!::

He was _going_ to find out.

***

Starscream was having the time of his life, and if he _ever_ had thought that'd involve trying to twist limbs, tear into metal and hear the crunch and screech when it gave before he'd gotten convinced to try the same thing the lumbering gravel-for-processors gladiators did for a living, well... He'd have laughed at them.

And yet.

Yet now, here he was, and he couldn't believe he hadn't _tried this earlier_.

His spark seemed to sing with every duck and weave, swell at every lunge and scrape of his fingers on metal and _flare_ each time he _failed_ to remove himself from harm's way. The helicopter - he didn't care enough at the moment to go rifling through the recent past to remember the mech's name - jumped back, out of reach of his own hands and the vibro-knives they were using, having managed to land a punch.

It left his processors ringing, vision glitching through sweeping static before it settled. Part of his helm was caved in, but the crumpled, twisted metal was nearly as good protection as a whole helm was - the integrity hadn't been compromised enough to pose a danger.

And yet... despite the continued _high_ he was being buoyed on, for each injury he failed to avoid or minimise, it felt like he was missing something. Like there was something he was supposed to be seeing, hearing, _knowing_ , that would've helped him. It was odd, but not entirely unfamiliar by now.

Each and every step into here and now had been preceded by that feeling and then the feeling of being more and more connected to his spark. Which was, frankly, ridiculous, because he was perfectly healthy and didn't have spark attachment issues in any way. 

It was a wholly meaningless feeling that, _yet_ , brought about revelations he'd so far had nothing but fierce pleasure in. Pleasure, and a surprise at how _easy_ it was, how _simple_ it was to avoid, cause... _take pleasure in_ , the harm and injuries they were visiting on each other.

Such a simple little thing---

"Gah--!" jerking back sharply and still not fast enough to not feel the edge of the knife catching on the slats of his throat, Starscream hissed incredulously, "what in the _blasted_ name of Cybertron do you think you're doing?!" 

His opponent grimaced and didn't answer, merely lunged again, and something, faintly, shrieked warnings about _deadly intent_ and _engage threat assessment and combat response routines_ \- but the words flickered past far too quick on his HUD, and whatever program that wanted to activate didn't get the access it was demanding thanks to his firewalls and other security measures.

The fragging helicopter was _trying to kill him_ , and this wasn't even a death match!

Starscream was utterly _certain_ that that was what the mech was trying to do, despite having very little to go on to reach that conclusion. But something in the helicopter's movements, where before they'd been little more threat to his function and chassis than a new spark, now...

Well, he was still moving with a certain sort of hesitation that was familiar to... hm, right, _Distrail himself, as well as a few others of the mechs he'd seen or fought himself in the arena._

_Dodging again, feeling the scrape of the knife against his cockpit as it shrieked against the armour-glass and _despite the need to _show the glitch whatfor_ , Starscream chanced a glance up at the one mech who'd have the final word about this...__

__And it became obvious _why_ the faulty aerial was trying to lethally assault him instead of just beating him down. Megatron's red optics met his with a burning intensity and narrowed _expectation_. That was not the expression of a mech who'd been crossed or had orders subverted. _ _

__Either he didn't mind where this was going at all, might even be _entertained_ , or ... He'd probably, for _whatever reason_ , told Distrail to try and kill him._ _

__Well, then. He should---_ _

__Swearing, Starscream dodged sideways and forewent twisting around to be able to use his vibro-knife, just punched the mech instead before he tried to reach for his throat. But Distrail staggered back, slashing down with the knife and burying it in Starscream's lower arm, and _pulled_. _ _

__The slash was deep, and worse still, it severed cables and messed up at least one piston and then the blasted servo in his _wrist_ before he managed to pull back, the knife sliding out the other way, with a yell._ _

__His own knife fell out of his slack, unresponsive fingers._ _

__That vague, flickering demand for _access to sensor net and dedicated processing power_ popped up again and was again removed by his security measures too fast for him to make a manual judgement about it._ _

__Maybe it didn't matter._ _

__Because either way he didn't have time to try and figure out some new programming trying to hog his processes when he was in the middle of _being murdered_! Sure, Starscream was still absolutely confident that Distrail wasn't capable of killing him. The mech was too much of a gold-strutted weak-spark for _that_ , even if he---_ _

__He dodged, yes, but it wasn't, apparently, Distrail's aim to slam into him bodily. In fact, him dodging seemed to be what the little slagger had been _counting on_ , because the knife, stabbed through the metal above his cockpit with far more ease than what was entirely comfortable. It scratched along the outer metal of his spark chamber, catching on wiring and cutting into the upper main cyberstatic cable before the it slid out with Distrail passing by him._ _

__Briefly, his vision whited out._ _

__It was only the shock of it, Starscream was vaguely aware, but that didn't make his vision less _pixillated_ as he clutched at the metal covering his spark chamber. Distrail hadn't gotten deep enough to kill him. But only because the vibro-knives weren't long enough to _reach_ that far._ _

__He still had a sharp scratch into the first layer of metal covering the inner parts of the spark chamber, and a cut into the upper main cable that was leaking cyberstatic charge, making his torso ache far more than Starscream thought was _quite_ warranted._ _

__The realisation that he was only as relatively unharmed as he was because _the weapon wasn't long enough_ was like a corrosive splash of toxic waste right in his faceplate. Staggering back even as his vision reset, his fingers suddenly cold from lack of cyberstatic charge as his spark had retreated to the chamber, Starscream saw Distrail coming at him again._ _

__The flicker from that unknown program with its unknown processes demanding access came up again and this time - Starscream wasn't sure if he stopped his security measures from deactivating the program again or if it this time simply _slipped past_ them._ _

__He had no idea. The only thing that was certain was that the program wasn't trying to install, because the flying delete measure wasn't one he needed to deactivate. Which meant that the program had been there since... when? Always?_ _

__All he knew was that his HUD flashed in a dizzying display of _pixels_ again, then a rush of code and---_ _

__The lights above the arena seemed to cast Distrail in sharper relief than they should have; every crease of seam between armor plates stood in sharp relief, practically screaming for his attention. The same went for the gaps in armour - wide, very wide, basically oceans of opportunity - around his joints. Elbows, shoulders, knees... hips._ _

__Weak points._ _

__Weak points like his optics, as long as he didn't punch the mech but rather clawed, to get around the nasal ridge protecting them. Weak points like his throat... the armour glass of the cockpit---_ _

__They slammed together, armour glass cracking._ _

__He couldn't hear it._ _

__He didn't hear the crunch of his hand closing around Distrail's wrist either, stopping the plunge of the knife. His other hand went for Distrail's throat, the cables on each side standing out against the gray as if they were coloured by the bright energon that flowed through them._ _

__His HUD was nearly overcrowded with scrolling statuses, alerts of power being redirected, the cushioning and charge-dispersing wiring around his spark chamber being disconnected since his spark was already inside _anyway_ , to allow for a greater flow of dedicated power and repair nanites from his self-repair to rectify the injury to such a vital part of him._ _

__All things that should take more processing power, more of his _attention_ , than it suddenly did, and a lot of things seemed to be happening all at once as his hand closed around Distrail's throat, and yet nothing _slowed down_._ _

__Tightening his grip, Starscream was aware of Distrail's other hand beating down... clawing... not yet hitting anything vital and thus _not important_. He didn't even have to spare conscious effort to evaluate and calculate the possible time it'd take until his opponent did any damage worth paying attention to - and somewhere Starscream found that... _almost_ unsettling, because shouldn't _all_ damage be..? _ _

__No. It wasn't._ _

__Not all damage could do the same... _level_ of damage to his frame, and the dents around his shoulder armour was one of the least dangerous places to _get_ dents, the way they stuck up, _protecting_ his shoulder joints. The same went for chest armour, the vents on his shoulders... Distrail couldn't reach to the slats to rip out the fans deeper in._ _

__The realisation went from unsettling to _pleasing_ , and Starscream felt a rush of power flare through him, both literally as his fuel processing pumped it out and metaphorically. He was... whole?_ _

__Yes._ _

__With a smirk, Starscream twisted his hand and felt the joint protected by bare armour collapsing, and Distrail _shrieked_ and slammed their helms together. Staggering, Starscream didn't let up, because the foolish helicopter didn't have enough _strength_ to use that manoeuvre effectively!_ _

__It wasn't until Distrail's flailing hand caught around the cables in his throat that a sudden flash of charge shot through him, but instead of _letting go_ and staggering back like he usually would, assuming that that would be the best course of action (get _away_ from the damage), Starscream went _forwards_._ _

__He kicked out at one of Distrail's kneejoints, baring his teeth at the mech's wide, bright optics even as he pushed forward and lifted his feet off the ground, driving them both to the floor. The knee-joint, barely covered compared to his own, crumpled underneath the weight and force, and Distrail jerked - his mouth opened, but Starscream didn't hear the scream._ _

__Such annoyingly bright, _blue_ optics. Familiar, and yet not. Blue that should know better than being here._ _

__He knew the hand that'd caught his cables, pulling in contrast to him _crushing_ Distrail's throat, had slackened at the kick, then jerked without causing damage when Distrail hit the arena floor._ _

__It wasn't _enough_._ _

__Especially not when Distrail tried to go for his optics, fingers stiff with _intent_ but his flailing weak with panic. Snarling, Starscream automatically closed his hand, fingers stiff claws, stopped crushing and started _tearing_._ _

__It wasn't anything less than what Distrail had been trying to do, after all._ _

__It wasn't anything less than he _needed_ to do to make sure he was safe, clearly._ _

__All those weak points earlier pointed out now seemed all the more brightly outlined, and Starscream yanked on the wrist he held and wrestled the knife from that hand. It fell to the ground, Distrail barely keeping hold of it with his broken hand._ _

__He didn't know where his own knife had gone, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the weak attempts at trying to _ward him off_ , what mattered was the metal underneath his hands, tearing, crumpling, shearing under his assault._ _

__There was a roaring in his audial, sharply aware of the rushing energon in the cables as he was, the crackling flow of energy - but the audience was cheering, he also realised._ _

__His visual feed was an unfocused smear of colour, but that might be because he was so focused on the twisted metal of the throat, the torn-out cables spitting charge and dripping energon after the first, uncontrolled gush of it; focused on the way the light played off the harsh angles of the shards of the cockpit in front of him, lit up blue-white by electricity and sparklight both._ _

__He closed his hand, the roaring in his audials sharply rising, and the blue-white light flared, flickered..._ _

__Gone._ _

__He pulled at more things, yanked, tossed them away and crushed them - try to kill _him_ would he, this useless wreck of a mech who barely had enough combat response to defend himself!?_ _

__The slow, sharp clapping from someone nearby stilled him._ _

__Starscream stared down at his hands, scratched from metal and armourglass, scored and sooty from charge snapping against them... stained bright pink, which was already drying into a dull, charge-less magenta._ _

__He had..._ _

__He reset his optics, once, twice._ _

__He had..._ _

__Looking up, he met red optics._ _

__Red, like his own._ _

__Red, that had condemned him to fight or die, for... for..._ _

__For _what_?!_ _

__All noise rushed in as Starscream stared, his optics narrowing, up at Megatron. Barely noting the brief blip of _threat to function: eliminated_ in the lower left edge of his vision. Something to think about later, that and the sudden change to his computing during the fight._ _

__"Well done, Starscream. I think we might have something to talk about," Megatron said, as slowly as he'd applauded him, and held a hand out in offering, optics sharp... waiting._ _

__Staring up at the champion of the Council of the Ancients, of the one who was in charge of these little entertainments that allowed them to get some charge, _violence_ out without worrying about the gladiator arena's _rules_ , Starscream didn't pay attention to the way the program and its attendant functions settled in in his processor._ _

__Later. He'd pay attention to that _later_._ _

__No, he focused on the fact that Megatron had told Distrail to kill him. He was sure of that now, the way Megatron was looking at him. That Megatron was now saying they had something to _talk about_... Optics narrowing as he took that hand, Starscream decided they _certainly did_._ _

__"I'm _listening_ , Megatron."_ _

__He might even listen to the slagging bullet-headed, cheater _glitch_ after he told him exactly what he felt about being _almost killed_._ _

__Nevermind that he hadn't felt more alive in his function, and not even his first fight in the arena compared to this._ _

__It was like he'd been in recharge until now, with every cable and piston sparkling with charge and alert _readiness_ , his processor poised to evaluate every single mech around him for possible action... _threat_. The awareness sank into his cerebro-circuits with relaxed certainty that everything was now as it _should be_ , that he was safer, more whole, than he'd ever been._ _

__It was... strange and pleasing both, and it made him stare all the more sharply at the mech in front of him as he got to his feet._ _

__"I thought you might." That smile said Megatron knew Starscream wasn't happy, and it was a challenge and taunt both... and, also, pleasure. Megatron was _pleased_ with his reactions._ _

__Starscream now _certainly_ wanted to know what Megatron had to say. _After_ he'd said his._ _

__With barely a glance back at the twisted mess of Distrail's corpse behind him, Starscream preceded Megatron out of the arena to the roaring cheer of the audience._ _

__This little chat would be... interesting._ _


End file.
